


Out of Sync

by BBJ_3



Category: Gotham (TV)
Genre: First Meetings, Insanity, M/M, Oblivious Bruce Wayne, Pining, Pining Joker, poor Jeremiah, rough, seriously the way Jeremiah looked at Bruce, well not entirely oblivious just pretending to avoid problems
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-14
Updated: 2018-04-14
Packaged: 2019-04-22 14:41:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,488
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14310927
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BBJ_3/pseuds/BBJ_3
Summary: In the sanity of Gotham, soulmates didn't seem impossible, but the sweet harmony Jeremiah finds with Bruce Wayne couldn't last. Jerome loved to destroy perfect things, and Bruce was simply too beautiful.





	Out of Sync

Labyrinths and mazes - paths as clear as destiny and curling traps - misdirected and alone. Both offered reprieve from Jerome. Though his twin could fake stillness, his mind moved reckless forward regardless of what he did. The twitch of a pencil right before it became a knife. A jiggling leg that would jut out to trip or kick and break a rib. Jerome - even his name vibrated in Jeremiah's mind's eye. No silence unless a plot. Stillness only in the blink before pain. And if Jerome had an opposite, it wouldn't be Jeremiah. Jerome's madness was infectious. Somewhere deep inside Jeremiah, something rotted. A place touched in the womb - left unprotected from his twin's raging fervor. 

Years and days - hours and weeks - months and seconds. No reprieve until two dark eyes in a pale face. God, he was so beautiful. The depth of his soul unfolded, and finally, Jerome ceased to exist. Not in the world, but deep in that rotting place were Jeremiah couldn't burn him out. Pushing his eyes to the ground, Jeremiah swallowed. Just the sight of him was enough. Jeremiah didn't need more. Jim Gordon suggested insanity, but none of that mattered because peace spoke, and his voice eased the Jerome creeping back up with each word Jim spoke.

"Mr. Valeska," a surprisingly deep voice called. "I'm Bruce Wayne. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Jeremiah's eyes darted from lips to eyes and down. "Likewise. I wish the circumstances were better."

"May I ask what it is you've been working on?"

"Uh..." All his mathematics and schematics scattered. "Yeah - it's a compact electrical engine." 

And he understood. "Fascinating." His eyes sparked, and there was intelligence there. He'd known before he asked. Another curve but not a dead end. No, Bruce Wayne was a perfect labyrinth - impossible to get lost in, but the ideal path to peace. A walk which brought you back. "How much power?"

"Just two could light up every building south of Westford Bridge." A smile shattered whatever fortitude remained to hide. 

"You have a brilliant mind. We all hope we can be rid of your brother, so you can carry out your work free from fear," Bruce told him. The young man could launch a thousand ships with his face alone, but his words were the sort to end a World War. "I understand if you choose not to help us today, but I trust that Captain Gordon and Mr. Fox will see that no harm comes to me, but even if it does, maybe by facing Jerome, I can show the people of Gotham that standing up to terror is the only way to take its power away."

Refusal wasn't an option. Anything - everything had to be done to stand beside this man. For the first time in his life, Jeremiah twisted toward the sun - the bright, light hidden in such a calm face. This was Jerome's opposite. Stoicism to mania - thoughtfulness to recklessness...and for the first time in his life, Jeremiah believed.

"Well said." 

Jeremiah was a fool. The moment they were alone, Jerome leaned in close, whispering in his ear, "Kid's a wet blanket, sure, but it just makes shoving him down all the better, right?" Bloody gums and pearly teeth displayed in a growling grin. "Wanted to fuck him the first time I saw. Take him raw." Peace fled and an aching entered. Jerome always had a way of sinking into the right wound. "Shove in and wet my cock with his blood. Wouldn't scream. Not that one. No - stiff upper lip and all that shit. You should've seen his butler - seriously, raised by the help. Talk about silver spoon up his ass."  

"Shut up," Jeremiah whispered.

His twin chuckled. "What? You think slow and soft would break him faster?"  _Yes_. The word flew through his mind before he could stop it, and Jerome saw it even if it wasn't able to be heard.  "You always knew how to solve the hard puzzles. I just broke them. My way was faster, but you're probably right. A few soft kisses, whispers of love, 'you're my anchor - peace in this chaotic world. My quiet place...' what? You think I couldn't see it. We're alike - you and I - we want the same things."

"We really don't."

Jerome pressed his lips together. His eyebrows rose. "So you don't want Bruce Wayne?" Jeremiah clenched his jaw. "Great! Then he's all mine!"

"Don't touch him!" 

And it grew. Clawing from him when Jerome gave him the knife. Anything to keep that madness away. Bruce wasn't susceptible to Jerome's manic manners, but...there was always a chance, and Jerome couldn't have him. Not Bruce. Only his dead body allowed Jeremiah to retreat back into the neutrality of Xander Wilde. When Bruce Wayne offered the grant, he had to accept. Just the chance to see the young man again. Perhaps he should have realized Jerome wasn't really gone when he extended an offer to escort Bruce home. Maybe it should have been recognizable in the way they ended up back in Jeremiah's home instead. They walked the halls - a maze for safety, not a labyrinth because anyone could find the end of a labyrinth. 

Standing over schematics, they spoke of a better world, and Jeremiah set aside his glass to wrap an arm around Bruce's waist. The younger man shifted, curling back toward him. Their foreheads pressed together. Both closed their eyes and simply breathed. No chaos. Inhale. Exhale - kiss. A brush of lips against lips. Bruce slid a hand up Jeremiah's arm. Rubbing his thumb against the base of the redhead's jaw, he guided the older man to lean closer. Without hesitation, Jeremiah pressed their lips together. A rising pressure built between them. Hands peeling away the vestments of the day until two pale bodies remained. Scars and lean muscle lined both. One day, perhaps they'd speak of such things, but that would take time. Time and pauses. Instead, they smoothly transitioned from schematics to the bedroom.

Falling back onto Jeremiah's mattress, Bruce pulled the older man down on top of him. Twin groans twisted into moans as they entwined like two writhing serpents. Building as steady as a linear slope, the two left no bruises. Soft, gentility marked their wakes, and when Jeremiah's fingers stretched Bruce in preparation of their union, he moved with such slow precision that Jerome would've considered it tantamount to torture. Their roughest moment had Bruce rolling them over, so he could sink with controlled grace onto Jeremiah's cock. The slight tension around his eyes gave away the newness when the dark haired youth's natural grace might've disguised it. 

If the ridiculousness of Gotham suggested anything of the limitless possibilities in the world, soulmates weren't unreasonable. Sleeping side by side, waking and moving around each other in perfect harmony, no one had ever put Jeremiah at such ease. When Bruce left, the home stood as a brittle shadow of the sanctuary he'd once imagined.

Then came the present. And Jerome. And madness.

Throwing away his phone, Jeremiah locked down his hideout. Hallucinations of Jerome and Bruce melded. Every dark fantasy played out, and only the grief brewing beside the yearning confirmed his brother remained dead. None of this was real. Jerome hadn't tied Bruce down. They hadn't spit-roasted him. He couldn't feel his brother's dick sliding into Bruce alongside his own. Standing in the center of his room surrounded by fires he wasn't sure were real and half-done equations, Jeremiah realized for the first time that he couldn't hear Bruce's footsteps. That he'd never heard Bruce move. Like a trained assassin, Bruce Wayne approached. Not from behind but from the side.

"Jeremiah?"

Deep and soft - still good, still calming - except... it left an itch behind. They were out of sync. Without that strange innate harmony, Bruce's presence wasn't enough. Jeremiah needed more. Things made sense when he touched Bruce. Maybe Jerome hadn't taken that away. Despite the thought tumbling around his head, he flinched when Bruce reached out to him. When the other's brows furrowed, Jeremiah gasped, pushing his body into Bruce's until he backed the younger man into the wall.

Static then explosions. When Jeremiah awoke, Bruce wasn't there, and his bed was also on fire. 

Bruce deserved better than whatever Jeremiah had become. With his last wisps of sanity, Jeremiah raced through the woods. His hideout blazed. Explosions set the woods on fire as Jeremiah Valeska threw himself over a cliff, praying to die. Decades later - he woke in a new hideout, surrounded by brightly colored fabrics, explosives, and ridiculously deadly toys. Pictures of Bats covered one wall, but as Jeremiah stepped back, another visage came into view. They formed a collage of Bruce Wayne. Dashing for the wreckage of what had likely been a bathroom, Jeremiah vomited. If he'd known even as the Joker, Bruce had to know who he was as well. Jerome had won. 


End file.
